


Out of My Control

by crayonbreakygal



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9458438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonbreakygal/pseuds/crayonbreakygal
Summary: Sherlock needs a place to stay.  Takes place after The Final Problem, season four.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is totally my fault. I messed up the timeline in my fic "This Could Be Our Last First Kiss". Sherlock's flat was blown up and quite the mess. Nomadka2011 pointed this out! Thanks for that. I didn't change the fic because hey, I'm lazy. So this plot bunny made its way into my brain after seeing the comment. So here it is. He most certainly couldn't live with John for a while. They'd kill each other. I actually looked at Cumberbatch's face to see if his nose is perfect. It is not. So I'm embellishing a bit on it being broken several times. And I'm sure that Mrs. Hudson kept those handcuffs. Have fun and enjoy!

“Out of My Control”

Takes place after The Final Problem, season four.

 

_“If I had my life to live again, I’d find you sooner.”—Kobi Yamada_

 

“I’m going to need a place to stay, for the time being.”

“Again?”

“You’re not putting that much effort into complaining, are you, Dr. Hooper?”

“I would think that living around the great Sherlock Holmes is taking your life into your own hands.”

Sherlock was stunned she had said this.  Certainly having him around might make the block a bit safer he’d voiced once a long time ago.

As they picked through what was left of his flat, Sherlock wondered what on earth he was going to do.  Mrs. Hudson’s flat was damaged, but not as badly as his was.  Even his suits were a total loss. He mourned his purple shirt immensely.

“I should charge you rent.”

“Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.” 

By the look in her eyes, she really, really didn’t want to know what kind of payment to which he was referring.  She shivered a little at the thought.

“No experiments. The last time you performed one of your livelier experiments, I almost got thrown out of my building.”

“Promise. Scout’s honor.”

Sherlock held up two fingers. He didn’t know which two fingers to hold up, much less if it was two fingers.

“You were never a Scout.”

“Good deduction, Hooper.”

“You’ve no clothes.”

“You still have my pajamas.”

“But that’s it.”

“Guess it’ll be that or naked.”

Molly rolled her eyes at this.

“You could stay with John.”

“Rosie requested that I not.  She needs her beauty sleep. Not that she needs it. Just a request.”

Molly snorted at that. The only thing Rosie seemed to be requesting these days was baba. That could mean any number of things including her bottle or her blanket.

“I really am sorry, for everything that happened.”

“No need to be sorry, Molly.”

The elephant in the room as the saying goes. They’d not discussed the phone call or what exactly had happened.  His joking around with Molly might ease the tension between the two of them.

“Oh, that’s right,” Sherlock snapped his fingers. “I had a suit at the cleaners.”

“That’s a plus,” she answered.

“It’s the one I had on when Mrs. Hudson dumped me into the boot of her car.  I still have nightmares.”

Molly had gone from joking around with him to stone-faced in seconds flat.  His excuse of trying to get John back didn’t hold water with her at all. He had to save his friend from himself and if that took almost killing himself, Sherlock would do it all over again. His body might give out the next time, but he’d still do it.

“One rule Sherlock.”

“One rule? I had concluded there would be many.”

“One hard and fast rule then. No drugs whatsoever. If I catch you with anything and I mean anything, out you go.  No excuses.  I don’t care if it’s for a case or you are in so much pain a doctor prescribed them.  No drugs under any circumstances.  Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

Molly pulled off her latex gloves and walked out of his flat.  Sherlock weaved around all the workers that now inhabited his life.  Mrs. Hudson had moved in with her sister for now, but she’d be back before Sherlock was.  His renovations would take a few months.  In addition to his reno, the restaurant downstairs also had some damage along with too many broken windows to count for his neighbors.  He had one or two of them yell at him, but nothing serious.

“There will be other rules you know,” she discussed as she walked down the steps of his flat.

Oh great, he thought. She usually was very laid back about him popping in to see her. Well, not to see her as much as hiding from someone else, usually John. Sometimes Mary.  Mycroft even. Every time he thought of Mary, his heart hurt.  The drugs numbed that hurt somewhat in addition to helping pull John back into his sphere.  He’d have to figure out an alternative to numbing the pain.

“Rules?”

“I’ll give you a typed list later.”

“Don’t I get a say so in this?”

“Nope.”

 

As Molly handed the list over to him, she wondered if she’d pushed him a bit too far.  Certainly the drugs were the biggest no-no. She didn’t want him using at all, but definitely not, if he was staying with her until his flat was finished. It seemed like a lifetime ago since he had, but it was only a short while, in addition to all the craziness surrounding his family.  If he was going to go off the rails, now would be a time he’d do it. If she could provide a stabilizing influence, she would.  A few slaps might come in handy.

“Need I remind you that this is my flat? You are a guest here.”

Sherlock shook his head yes, acting like she was right.  She knew he’d push the boundaries when he could, just like any other small child would in his situation.

“Understood.”

As he read down the list, and it wasn’t a large list, but thorough, she saw that he had started making notes.

“Sherlock? What are you doing?”

“Correcting a few things on the list.”

“Correcting?”

“Number two says that you have a right of first refusal on showers. What if I’m already in there? Are you going to kick me out?”

“Well, I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

Molly needed wine for this because now that this can of worms had been opened, she might not like what she read.  She could just kick him out on the street, or call Mycroft to come retrieve him.  Mycroft liked his solitude.

“And no, you will not call my brother.  After the incident, he’s been acting a bit strange if you ask me.”

“Strange?  How so?”

“He’s been nice.  Scaring me down to my toes.”

“Your brother can’t be nice to you?”

“No,” Sherlock barked.  “And I smelled perfume. The last time I was at his place I smelled perfume.”

“Maybe he cross-dresses.”

“Just my luck he has a girlfriend.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

Molly wanted to beat her head against the wall. Sherlock was always clueless when it came to the opposite sex.

“It’s unnatural.”

“Maybe if he gets some, he won’t be so uptight.”

Oops, Molly thought.  That did not come out the way it had in her head.

“I think it’ll take more than a few quickies to loosen that man up.”

Did he just make a sexual joke regarding his brother?  Mycroft had thrown in his face on more than one occasion that Sherlock was a virgin. No way the man was, even with the fake stories about Sir Shags a Lot.  Molly snorted at that vision.

He handed over his revisions to her, smiling back like he was doing a good thing.

Molly took her red pen and crossed out the majority of them and handed it back.  His pout did nothing to dissuade her from this line of attack.

“I am not your housekeeper, Sherlock.  You will share in the duties of living in my flat, like taking out the garbage, cleaning and laundry. If you don’t, then …”

“Ok, alright.  I’ll do it.  Not like I have any cases at the moment anyway.”

 

She settled him in the guest room without much incident. He seriously thought he was going to get her bedroom?  Just because she was a pushover a few years ago didn’t mean she’d be that way now.  Besides, the guest room had the exact same bed as hers.  She’d seen to it after the last time he overstayed his welcome.  He couldn’t complain about the bed.

Handing him his towels, she walked out of the room.  Her mind was such a jumble at the moment, she just needed time to recharge from his nonsense.  As she sat on her settee with her tea, she heard a commotion coming from her bathroom.  The door was slammed open.  Emerging from the hallway was a nearly naked Sherlock, only wrapped in a towel, a towel that at any moment might slip from his slim hips.

He’d lost weight. Not like he had any to spare since he’d always been skinny anyway.  It didn’t lessen how damn beautiful he was.  Yes, that’s what she thought of him. He wasn’t some kind of muscled, beefy male of the species like one saw in those superhero movies.  It must be all that fighting and running for his life that kept him fit. 

Sherlock had too many scars though, outside and in.  Healed stab wound, upper chest area. Molly didn’t know about that one.  Gunshot wound, caused by Mary Watson, in the region of the middle chest area, missed his heart by a fraction of mere centimeters.  Burn marks, lower abdomen, probably gotten when he was in Serbia, probably caused by a cigarette or cigarette lighter.  There indeed was a pattern.  Ugly knife stabbing on his left upper thigh.  Could have bled out on that one if it had hit the femoral artery.  Caused by a client during the first year she knew him.  Case gone definitely wrong.  Lash marks all across his back.  Definitely done to him while he was on his mission to take down Moriarty’s network of criminals.  Probably was severely infected before treated.  Nose broken at some point, possibly several times.  Did John do that?  She knew that he’d gotten hit by John when he returned from his exile.  His nose was just off kilter, telling her he never had it set after being broken.  Bruise, lower torso, probably left over from defending himself against Eurus. One thing she noticed about Sherlock Holmes is it took much longer for his injuries to heal.  That didn’t mean he was idle as he healed. That meant his pale skin looked worse than it really felt. 

“My shampoo,” he asked.

The towel slipped just a bit.

“Under the sink.”

As he turned, she watched how he walked.  No sign of any other damage, although he was so good at hiding it.  John had told her the emotional and physical damage Eurus had caused.  He hadn’t healed yet from confronting Culverton Smith.  Substantial damage done to his body on that one, inside and out.  His eye had just healed not long before. She watched for weeks as the bruises caused by Smith had slowly disappeared along his neck and jaw area.  The man’s fingers had caused them!  He’d nearly snuffed out Sherlock’s life just for fun.  John choked up as he told her about Sherlock pleading for Smith not to kill him (all recorded of course).  Who knew if Sherlock was acting or not.  She hadn’t asked him about that either.

Going back to her book, she’d only read a few words before realizing she’d been sitting there for almost an hour without much progress. So much for relaxing.  The water in the bathroom was still going strong.  Molly was glad her landlord didn’t charge for water usage.  Almost an hour though?

Tapping on the bathroom door, she heard Sherlock scramble inside.

“You alright in there?”

“Yes, yes.  Be out in a moment.”

The water immediately shut off. No hot water for her that night.  It would take forever for the heater to revive. As she slowly closed the door to her bedroom, she heard him exit the bathroom.  It took her no time to find and change into her night clothes, choosing something that was not revealing and quite comfortable.  She’d have to change what she wore to bed now.  No use showing him what he wasn’t going to get.  Not like he’d ask her anyway. 

Going back into the kitchen for a snack before bed, she ran into Sherlock with a glass of water and a pain reliever.

“Headache,” he told her as he held up what he was taking.

“When did you last eat?”

“This morning. It’s alright.”

“No, it isn’t.  These headaches will persist if you don’t eat.  Medicating won’t solve it.”

Grabbing the bread, she set about toasting him a few slices in addition to gathering the jam and butter from the refrigerator.

Sherlock smelled like her. He must have used her body wash.  Strange to smell someone else who used the same bath product.  It smelled the same, but different.

“Molly, I…”

The shirt he’d left at her place was ratty to the extreme. It was soft and comfortable, which was probably why he’d left it in the first place.  His pajama pants sat low on his hips, just like that towel had.  Mind, gutter, she thought.  Must get out of that gutter if they were going to share the small amount of square footage she had to offer.  His large, bare feet peeked out under the cuff of his pants. Her feet were tiny next to his, which almost made her giggle.  She wondered if she babbled about his feet he’d laugh.

As she watched the toaster do its work, she glanced his way. He’d slicked his curls back just a bit, probably because of the headache.  His sharp cheekbones stood in contrast on his pale face. Too pale was all she could think.  Then she thought about his slightly crooked nose and snorted.

“Something amusing?”

“You’re asymmetrical.”

“How so?”

“How many times have you broken your nose?”

“Several. I’ve lost count.  Is it really that crooked?”

“Can’t tell unless you really look.”

“And you’ve really looked?”

“Not much else to look at when you’re laid up from a gunshot wound to the chest, now is there?”

“Point taken.  How often?”

“How often what?”

Molly reached for the toasted bread, setting the slices down on a plate.

“Did you come to the hospital?”

“Too many times to count.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

If she’d actually turned on a light instead of relying on the streetlight outside she would have noticed the ring of red around his eyes.  Just by turning as he did, she finally noticed.  Was this why he’d taken so long in the shower?

“Sherlock, if you need anything, anything at all.”

“You’re good at making lists.”

Molly smiled at this. He was joking again.

“It’s my job, mister.  Have to make you behave.”

“I know of other ways to make me behave.”

Oh lord, he was flirting with her, seriously flirting with her.

“I can always ask Mrs. Hudson to borrow those handcuffs.”

He swallowed hard at that.

“Would those be for me to use or you?”

It was her turn to swallow hard.

“Misbehave and you might find out.”

What had this started? Indeed neither one of them had broached the subject of the phone call. It was sitting there, like a time bomb waiting to go off at any moment.

“It wouldn’t take much.”

They really needed to stop before she spontaneously combusted.

“Might have to put your scarf to use.”

Stop, stop, stop, she chanted in her mind.

When had they gotten closer to each other? Mere inches and he’d have her pinned against the counter.

“And how would you suggest I use said scarf?”

“I wasn’t talking about me silly, I was talking about using it on you.”

He closed his eyes, breathing picking up.

“Have I been a bad boy?”

His eyes opened to bore into hers. He closed the distance between them, enough so that she could feel how hot his breath was against her cheek.

“Most definitely very bad,” she whispered as his mouth ghosted across her lips.

“Punish me then, Molly Hooper. Mark me as yours.”

She almost came right then and there.

“Bend over.”

Sherlock growled as he captured her lips with his, parting her lips almost forcefully.  He’d trapped her against the cabinets, hands working down her sides, yanking up her top with ease.

“So soft,” he said as his lips fell to her neck.

Molly bunched up his soft shirt until she could rake her nails down his back. He arched into her, rubbing himself down her like a cat in heat.

 

What were they doing?  Molly had pushed him too far this time with her outfit and her words and her hands. Everything.  In the kitchen. The place where he’d nearly lost her to Eurus.  She didn’t know the significance, did she?  He wouldn’t tell her, just yet.  Not yet.  He wanted to savor this moment, have it in his memory banks just in case it all went wrong later. He’d never delete how this felt, how right it was.

As he slowly lowered her to the floor, he thought back to her image, the look of tears in her eyes as she’d said that she loved him.  He only had his voice.  He could see everything she was feeling, in her eyes, the way she held her body, tense, arms crossed tightly. The smudges under her eyes had told him she’d not been sleeping all that much, quite like himself at that point.  Her hands shook as she made tea for herself. He’d seen her perform those actions dozens of times. It never failed to mesmerize him as she did.

Eurus knew finally, after she’d watched what happened between the two of them, had figured out that Molly meant more to him than life itself.  How had Moriarty missed it?  How had he missed it?  It had taken Sherlock two years of loneliness to figure out he needed her, only to return to Tom, the meat dagger beside Molly.  He’d screwed up, royally. Now she was his. He needed to focus.

The soft, pale skin of her stomach intrigued him as he placed small kisses on it. It quivered at his touch.  As her nails raked through his damp hair, he sighed out his pleasure, knowing that if he played his cards right, she’d keep doing that and more. 

No bra to speak of.  Of course, she’d been ready to sleep.  She usually wore one when he was around since he sometimes would slip into her bed without her knowledge. She’d caught him one time, so she had been ready just in case.

So expressive Molly was as his tongue swirled, squeal of delight as he gently bit down. Her leg had come around, tightening against his backside, drawing him in, the heat coming from her almost scorching. 

He took his time on her breasts, savoring how they tasted and responded to his touch. By the actions of her hips, it wouldn’t take her long to shatter in his arms.  It certainly wouldn’t take him long either. It had been too long, much too long, not counting Adler’s allure.  Being with her had been satisfying physically, but only so. Once it was over, it was over.  He craved Molly.  He’d only tolerated Irene Adler for physical release.

Working her pajamas down her hips, his hands and mouth worked back up her thighs, parting her as he did. Molly was breathing heavily once he’d settled himself between her thighs.

“It’s only been a few weeks,” Molly’s eyes flew open.

“I never shared needles.  Besides, Wiggins measured out the precise dosages.”

“No, you idiot. Well, yes, that’s good to know.  Are you, are you alright doing this?”

He was set to lose himself inside her, better than the drugs, better than the cases.

“I want you.”

“That much is apparent,” she giggled out.

“Shall I?” he asked, groaning into her throat as he did.

He knew that Molly was definitely clean as a whistle and had an IUD inserted for a while now.  She’d not like it that he’d snooped, but he just wanted to be careful, with her. She deserved him that way, not the drug addicted, narcissistic asshole he’d become after Mary had died. No one deserved that.

“Please,” she begged.

Dear god she was wet and tight and ready for him. He’d forgotten about the niceties of checking to be sure she was ready and thrust into her without so much as a finger. His mouth found a pulse point on her neck as he slowly moved in and out of her, as she matched him, hips snapping up to meet his.

“Look at me, Sherlock,” she said as she took his face in her hands.

He slowed his movements as he looked down at her, watched as a tear slipped out. Her brown eyes were almost black in the dim light, face flushed pink.

Did she know what kind of hold she had over him?  He’d do as she commanded, look at her, give her his all as she’d asked.

“Keep looking.”

“Molly,” he groaned as she rolled her hips just so.

“Keep looking at me,” she said, almost like she was begging.

Propping himself on one forearm, his other hand worked down between their bodies. 

“Right there,” she groaned out as her hips sped up to match his again.

It didn’t take long for her back to arch up, her insides turning him into a quivering mass of need. Three thrusts later and he was gone.  She was still clenching around him, body shaking against his.

“Holy fuck,” she said in his ear, making him chuckle.

He’d made Molly Hooper curse. Sure, she’d thrown curses at him when he’d been using.  Now it was much more pleasurable.

“The kitchen, Sherlock?  I have a bed you know.”

His arm was cramping from holding his weight, so he slowly lowered himself beside her on the cold floor.

“There’s a significance to it.”

“Enlighten me then.”

Her eyes widened when she realized he’d gone silent.

“You could see me, couldn’t you? When Eurus made you…”

“Yes. I thought, I thought that was the last time I’d ever see you again.”

“Worth the wait?” she tearily asked.

“No.”  A look of horror crossed her face.  “I should have done this years ago.”

She sighed a relief out, then smacked him on the arm.

“You really do love to hit me.”

“You deserve each slap.”

“Remember what I said about punishment?”

“Sherlock,” Molly said, blushing.  “You are a naughty boy.”

 

“Dishes,” Molly yelled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her as he trudged into the kitchen, dressing gown billowing behind him.

“Yes, my Molly.”

“Oh please,” she sarcastically shot back.

The heat on her back was intense and oh, so right. 

“Help me. I seem to not remember how to wash dishes properly.”

He pinned her against the counter in front of the sink.  As he took a mug in his hands, she ground back against him.

“New way to do the dishes?”

Sherlock’s wet hand came up to cup her breast through her shirt.

“They’re never going to get done if you keep distracting me, Sherlock.”

“Don’t you like my distractions?”

“Yes, the seven times in Molly’s flat will make a good headline.”

“I seem to remember seven times for you, over two days mind you. Myself on the other hand?”

Molly smirked at that.  Janine hadn’t known what she was missing.  Her loss.

“You’re breaking the rules,” Molly pointed out as his hand worked its way down her body.

“I think it’s the one I marked out in red pen.  Molly’s pleasure comes first?”

Molly chuckled, reaching back to grab at his arse.

“How about you join me?”

He bit down on her neck.

“If I must.”

The dishes never were completed, water was all over the floor and counter as were their clothes, again.


End file.
